


Fools Rush In

by Rosie_Rues



Category: Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelica Petrocchi is taken aback when a strange Englishman begs for her help solving a missing person's case. She's never heard of Tonino Montana, or any of his family, and she isn't sure what the worst spellmaker in Florence can do to help. Meanwhile, Tonino finds himself trapped somewhere very peculiar. Mostly gen, this, with some light Angelica/Tonino.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kayrama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayrama/gifts).



For Angelica, it began with the bewildered Englishman.

He was one of that particular breed of vague, fair-haired English gentlemen who sometimes seemed to appear in the midst of Florence, looking stiff and out-of-place, sporting their Baedekers like shields. This particular example was obviously lost, gazing around the magical quarter with a faintly appalled frown as children ran past him, shrieking, and old women in black dresses shuffled and muttered, glaring at him expectantly as he failed to move out of their way. Eventually, he took the hint and stepped aside, blinking down at Signora Moretti's display of unicorn horns and ambrosia (really goat's horn and honey, both with generous lashings of cheap gilt). Behind him, on another stall, a toad belched out purple bubbles and he jumped.

Angelica took pity on him and stepped out of her doorway to ask, in her most careful English, “Are you lost?”

He turned to look at her, a little of his badly-hidden dismay fading as he said, “Angelica Petrocchi!”

Damn it, she had left that name in Caprona. Rather coldly, she said, “We haven't met.”

He went bewildered again and said, in very fluent Italian, “No, no, I suppose we haven't, under the circumstances. Forgive me.”

Possibly his understanding wasn't as good as his accent, as that made no sense at all. “Were you looking for the _Duomo?_ ”

“Should I have been?”

“Most tourists are,” Angelica told him, folding her arms.

“Oh, I'm not a tourist,” he told her apologetically and gave a little bow. “Felix, er, Smith, signorina, and actually, I was looking for you.”

Angelica looked along the street. It was as bustling and noisy as ever, but she had no intention of continuing the conversation out here. The magical quarter devoured gossip, and she had no wish to feed them any further. Bad enough to have the name Petrocchi attached to hers in earshot of the biggest gossips in the city without making it stick further. It was going to take quite a diversion to regain her anonymity.

“In my office, perhaps,” she suggested, gesturing up the stairs.

It wasn't much of an office, being nothing more than the front half of the attic she rented, but it had a desk, two wobbly chairs, and a nameplate on the door ( _L. Bianchi, independent spellmaker_ , inherited from a previous owner, but still a very useful pseudonym). Angelica swept her way to the chair behind the desk, trying to pretend that the floor wasn't dusty and the desktop was a little less empty of actual work.

“Sit down, please,” she said.

Her visitor eyed the second chair with dismay and stayed standing, merely placing his silk top hat on the splintered seat. The legs wobbled dangerously even under that weight, and Angelica bit back the urge to apologise.

“Signorina Petrocchi,” he began.

“Let me guess,” she said, holding up a hand to interrupt him. “You find yourself in need of a spell, and heard a rumour that there was a Petrocchi spellmaker here in the quarter, so you thought you'd save yourself a trip to Caprona. Therefore, I feel I should warn you that I am also the very worst spellmaker in Florence.”

He blinked. “Does that approach get you much custom?”

She gestured at her desk. “As you see. If you have a commission which suits my talents, I will take it, but be warned that the results may be a little more eccentric than you expected.”

“Actually,” he said. “I didn't want a spell.”

Oh. Well, that was embarrassing. After the first few wretched months here had almost seen her sued four times, she had started giving the warning as a matter of course. “In which case-”

“You talk to cats.”

That was unexpected. Whilst it was no secret, she certainly didn't advertise that particular ability. If he knew that much, he hadn't just happened to stumble upon her. Cautiously, she said, “Lots of witches talk to their cats.”

“Not many understand the replies.”

“True.” She sat back, studying him. He looked unremarkable, but she had travelled enough to know that sometimes that was a talent in itself. Now she was looking properly, though, she could see more. Underneath his calm facade, this man was worried, and she had the feeling that he didn't quite know what to do with it, as if life normally just ordered itself smoothly around him. “Do you have a particular cat in mind?”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I'm afraid that it's a little more complicated than that. I've come from Caprona.”

“There are lots of cats there.”

“No, there aren't,” he said, lips tightening with a hint of urgency. “Every cat in the city vanished a week ago, and my partner, who was staying with family there - he's missing too. That's why I came straight to you.”

A missing person? She felt her interest quicken. It wouldn't be the first mystery she'd taken on – there wasn't much work for her somewhat unique spellcasting abilities here, beyond the odd tarot reading and a bit of other divination, but the magical quarter of Florence, like any other in the world, attracted more than its share of rogues and chancers, and no one here had much trust in the authorities. She was one of their own, with sharp wits and the ability to unleash chaos if crossed, and she'd started to establish a reputation for untangling lies and finding things that were lost, whether by accident or by intent.

“What can you tell me about him?” she asked, pulling over a blank sheet of paper and a pen. It helped to set the key details out.

“His name is Tonino Montana,” he told her, with an air of expectancy.

“How many n's in Montana?” she asked.

He made a startled, choking noise and swept his hat off the chair, sinking down onto it with enough force that it rocked under him. Then he dropped his elbows onto the edge of her desk and leaned forward to stare at her, blue eyes bright with distress.

“You don't even remember the name,” he said, staring at her so hard that she had the uneasy feeling he could see right into her head.

She wracked her memory, but found nothing. “I'm sorry. I don't know any Montanas. Has he been in Caprona long?”

“He was born there. Listen – the Old Bridge in Caprona stands on spell-foundations created by two houses, remember?”

“Of course,” Angelica told him, wincing. She hadn't been allowed to take part in the ongoing work on the bridge with the rest of her family. “The Petrocchis-”

“What was the name of the other house?”

“No one knows,” she answered without thinking about it. “They all died out, I think, or moved away.”

His frown tightened. “The best spells from Caprona are delivered in coloured envelopes. Yours are cherry red. What is the other colour?”

“Leaf-green,” she said and then winced as her head suddenly throbbed. “Ow. There's no other spell-house in Caprona competing with us. There aren't two types of envelope. The green ones are from Pisa or Venice or somewhere else.”

He sat back, twisting his hat in his hands. “Interesting. Whatever is reshaping your memory is still adapting. Nobody I questioned in Caprona this morning even remembered there were two colours. I wonder what answers I'd get from England?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” The whole conversation was beginning to try her nerves. A good mystery was one thing, but this made no sense. “What do you want from me?”

He focussed on her again. “It's not just my partner who's missing. His whole family have vanished as if they never existed. Come to Caprona with me, please, and help me find out what's happened.”

She wasn't comfortable with a stranger leaning in that close, so she shuffled back on her chair. “Have you considered that – well, that they might really never have existed? You're saying that this is a spell which has altered everyone's memories except yours. Isn't it more likely that-”

“Their Casa is standing empty,” he told her. “Their symbol is on half the walls in Caprona. And the cats – they've always protected both houses. Angelica, if someone's kidnapped the whole of Casa Montana, your family are likely to be next.”

She glared at him. She didn't mind an honest investigation, and he was clearly worried, but that was no excuse to be so rude and over-familiar.

Then he said, slumping a little more. “You really do have absolutely no idea who I am.”

“Should I?”

There was a slight thump behind them, and Angelica turned to see her cat slink down from the windowsill to the top of the bureau. Vittoria liked to pretend she was still young and slim, but her legs were a little too stiff to jump straight to the floor these days. She made her stately way across the room to twine around Angelica's ankles.

“Well met, Vittoria,” the stranger said and reached down to stroke her. “Still beautiful, I see.”

It was always nice to see this one, Vittoria informed Angelica, pressing up into his hand, even if he did usually bring trouble with him.

“You know him?” Angelica exclaimed.

Of course Vittoria knew him. He was Tonino's friend, the kitten boy. Had Angelica forgotten?

“Tonino?” Angelica repeated and heard her visitor breathe in with sheer relief.

Yes, Vittoria said, strolling out from under the stranger's hand to scramble up onto the windowsill again. Had Angelica decided to stop being angry with him yet? She, Vittoria, was still hoping for some human kittens one of these days and it would be very hard for Angelica and Tonino to have any kittens at all if they refused to live in the same city as each other.

“Kittens?” Angelica yelped, and the stranger cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Could you ask her if she knows why she can remember Tonino when you can't?”

“Ask her yourself,” Angelica said. “Vittoria?”

Cats, Vittoria suggested, curling up in a patch of sunlight, had very good memories. They weren't as easy to tamper with as humans, either.

 

#

 

Tonino Montana was a fool.

This was a statement of fact, rather than his or anyone else's opinion (and somebody, he was vaguely aware, had said it of him not so long ago, and a few more choice terms as well). A simple glance down at his costume had provided him with the information – he was wearing a ragged tunic in a motley pattern, boots with curled toes and a feather in his cap which kept bouncing against the end of his nose.

The problem was that he wasn't entirely sure whether or not he had always been a fool. He couldn't quite remember where he had been before he had started walking, or even how long he had been on the road. He didn't even know what he was carrying or where he was going.

Something nipped his ankle and he stopped dead, looking down.

The little white terrier who had been following him along the road glared back.

“That hurt,” Tonino told him, a little put out. He had shared his last meal with the dog, after all.

“It was supposed to hurt,” the dog snapped back. “Big fool like you not even looking where you're walking!”

Tonino blinked and looked along the road, only to realise with a start that, barely a pace ahead of him, it ended, curling off the side of a cliff into nothing. “Oh,” he said. “What a stupid place to build a road.” The dog whuffed agreement, and Tonino sat down, dropping his pack and saying, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I don't think I'm supposed to be here,” Tonino told him gravely. He had a vague, nagging sense that something was very, very wrong. “How did we get here? Do you know where we're going?”

“Not the faintest idea,” the dog told him. “It's the Fool's job to walk. Never had one who asked where before.”

“Do you know why I'm here?”

The dog shook his head, tongue lolling out. “I can tell you this much, boy. None of us are meant to be here. Yet here we are. How's that for a puzzle?”

“Puzzling, appropriately enough,” Tonino told him, and looked around. Below them, the sea stretched out from the white foot of the cliff towards the distant horizon, blue and crumpled and empty. Behind, the road wound back across the flowering maquis, its cobbles worn and smooth. With a sigh, Tonino stood up, and started to retrace his steps, turning his back on the sea. “Come on, then. Let's see what we can find.”

“Trouble, I expect,” the dog told him, and broke into a torrent of barks. “Trouble and rabbits! Whoo! Run, rabbits, run!” And he shot off into the undergrowth, as Tonino shouldered his pack and kept walking.

 

#

 

When the train stopped at the border between Florence and Caprona, the stranger's Italian suddenly turned halting. He stammered and stumbled and smiled apologetically, waving his travel documents, and it was the easiest thing in the world for Angelica to take over as if she really was his translator. It wasn't until she caught his faint smile as the border guards swung out of the compartment that she realised that he had made her seem as unremarkable as he did, as if it was something he had practised. As the train rumbled back into motion, steam gusting past the window, she sat back in her seat and demanded, “Who are you?”

He hesitated for a second, and then the strongest privacy spell she had ever encountered rose softly around her. So he was a magician, then, and a powerful one.

“Tonino and I are agents, of a sort,” he said, and he was watching her again, blank-faced and wary. Outside the train window, the Tuscan countryside was still and bright, rising in green, fir-lined terraces to the bold sky.

“Spies?” she asked incredulously.

“No – not quite. Both our governments are aware of what we're doing, of course. We, ah, work for Chrestomanci.”

“In England?”

He gave a faint grimace. “Criminals don't always respect national borders. For some reason, a lot of them seem to think it's easy to disappear on the Continent, at least until we track them down. There are other things we work on, as well – things no European government wants on their soil – _strigoi_ and _rusalki_ and sirens and so on. Sometimes we track down cursed objects – whatever needs to be done.”

“Did I know about this?” she asked, thrilled. She'd always wanted to do something heroic.

He gave her a quick, rueful grin. “Up until a few months ago, you helped us with it, whenever we were in Caprona, which was often. Tonino prefers not to leave his family for too long. If it wasn't for your family's protests, I think you would have thrown your reputation away and joined us on the road.”

“And I stopped?”

He shrugged. “You wanted to work alone. To leave Caprona.”

“I'd had enough of my family trying to protect me,” she said. That much she was sure hadn't changed.

“Not just your family,” he murmured, and then shrugged. “We're on a case now. There were a number of leads – a possible sighting of one of the artifacts in Turin. I left Tonino to do research in Caprona, but the lead turned out to be nothing and when I got back-”

“Do you think someone was trying to lure you away?”

He startled. “I hadn't considered- it's possible.”

“What was the case?”

He shrugged, glancing out the window and avoiding her gaze. “I'm not sure-”

“You hired me. And, from what you say, you trusted me before.”

“You're not exactly the same person.”

“If you want my help, you have to tell me what's going on.”

“There was a theft, about four months ago, from a private collection in England. Things that belonged to an old occultist called Thomas Fowler. Pretty dark magician in his day – demons, maybe. He's been dead for, oh, three hundred years, and he still is dead. I mean, we checked that. We always do now, after the- but you wouldn't remember- you know, I don't usually do the explanations.”

“Theft,” Angelica said, ticking it off on her fingers. “Thomas Fowler. Long dead. What was taken?”

“About twenty items. Three have turned up on the black market since. The rest we're still looking for.”

“And what do these items do?” Angelica asked patiently.

“Oh, they imprison magicians. Fowler built witch-traps – he was meant to be a genius. Uh, he put people into paintings and turned them into canaries and dolls and, er, a music box once, I think. That one doesn't exist now, if it ever did.”

“Witch-traps,” Angelica repeated and, to her surprise, started to relax. This felt familiar, somehow, as if she'd extracted order out of vagueness a hundred times before. “Strong enough for a whole family?”

“Depends who used them. Nobody even thought they were that dangerous any more.”

Angelica glanced out of the windows. The low red roofs of the farms were appearing more often now. Within minutes they would be in the outskirts of Caprona, as familiar to her as her own reflection, and she could feel her shoulders tense a little. If she was careful, she might be able to avoid running into any of her family. The thought made her feel small and shameful, but she was so sick of failing to live up to their expectations.

“Where do you want to start?” she asked, squaring her shoulders. She wasn't running home to give up – she was here to work, and she had no qualms about explaining that to any of her relatives. They all took commissions for spells – there was no shame in her taking one for investigation.

 

#

 

After a while, the dog came dashing back, tail high as he scrabbled back onto the road.

“Catch any?” Tonino asked politely.

“Pah,” the dog said, shaking himself. “Rabbits! It's not like they're a real challenge. Not worth the bother. Give me a real chase any day. Now, rats – rats are worth the effort. Nasty, vicious things, rats. Rather hear a rat squeal than a rabbit panic.”

“Get a lot of rats along here, do you?” Tonino asked.

The dog huffed in annoyance. “Not on this road. They stay where it's safe, with the suit cards, hiding behind humans, the filthy skulking things. None of them brave enough to trepass on the long road, not unless-” Then he stopped, sniffing the air. “Here's trouble!”

Tonino squinted ahead. A knight had suddenly ridden into view, coursing along the road towards them at full gallop, green cloak flaring and sword held high. The soft dirt between the cobbles began to dance under the thunder of the horse's hooves, and Tonino jumped hurriedly off the side of the road.

The knight charged past them and then reined the horse to a rearing stop. He turned and clopped back towards them, sword thrust out menacingly. “Halt, foul enchanter! You shall not pass!”

 

#

 

Casa Montana was in the Via Magica. It looked very like her own family's Casa – right down to the statue of the Angel over the gate, staring down reproachfully at them as they approached. The Casa Petrocchi had never been this quiet, though, and she shivered as they pushed open the great doors, the knotted wood creaking reluctantly against the sides of the gate, just like it did at home.

Dry leaves were skittering across the empty yard, gathering like clouds in the corners. A door swung open, hinges moaning faintly. There were pigeons roosting under the eaves, crooning smugly. Inside, the kitchen was silent and dark, and when Angelica touched the stove, it was cold.

“What are we looking for?” she whispered, and then felt silly. There was no one here to hear her.

“Anything out of the ordinary,” he told her, looking around helplessly. “I have no idea how it should look.”

“Well, normally, more people, cats, music, chaos, shouting, high drama – you know the sort of thing.”

He went all limp and English at her again. “Er, I can't say I do.”

She snorted and took a final glance around the kitchen. “Let's check upstairs.”

The music room and scriptorium were both familiar enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck crawl. If Renata and Claudio had been frowning over the books and Roberto banging away at the drums next door, it could have been home. Uneasily, she wondered if the Montanas could still be here, drifting around as ghosts.

“Angelica!”

She hurried through to the far end of the scriptorium to find the Englishman standing in a small library, staring at the desk. As soon as she got close enough, she could see that a playing card was sitting there, pinned in place with a short dagger.

“It's the King of Swords,” he said and caught her hand as she reached out. “Don't touch it.”

As soon as he spoke, she felt it herself. The card was crawling in magic, so strong and so _wrong_ that she recoiled.

“Do you recognise him?”

“No,” she said, squinting down at the card. The king was sitting straight on his throne, but he didn't look proud and strong. Instead, he seemed tired and worried, eyes heavy and shoulders slumped. “Should I?”

“I think,” he said, “that's Antonio Montana. Tonino's father.”

“A curse?”

“Could be.” He picked up a blotter from the desk and very carefully tugged at the dagger. It came out of the wood with a faint gurgling sound, and he put it aside carefully, saying, “A pack of tarot cards was among the missing items from the Fowler collection. Can you find me a pair of tongs or pliers?”

In the kitchen, she found a pair of sugar tongs and the Queen of Swords, dropped casually onto the corner of the worktop. She plucked it up with the tongs and returned upstairs, carrying it at arm's length.

She put it down on the table beside the first and passed over the tongs so he could examine the first card. The Queen was a fair-haired woman, enthroned with dark clouds swelling behind her. She seemed to be looking out of the card, her face taut with anxiety.

“These are hand-painted,” Angelica said, grabbing the tongs back so she could tip the card up to look at the texture. “You can see the brush strokes.”

He was looking worried again. “That fits with the description of the Fowler pack, but why would they look like people who are alive now?”

“I've got a few ideas,” Angelica said grimly. “If I'm right, there should be more.”

“Split up and go searching?”

“I'll take downstairs,” she said at once, and snagged the tongs before he could stop her.

 

#

 

“I'm not an enchanter,” Tonino said warily, looking up at the knight. He bore a startling resemblance to Tonino's cousin Rinaldo, right down to the dramatically flowing forelock that covered his right eye.

“Name yourself then, stranger! There is foul magic afoot!”

“I'm just the Fool,” Tonino said carefully. “What kind of magic?”

“Staves!” the knight hissed, flourishing his sword. “They're behind this, mark my words. Treacherous, every one of them.”

“The staves are treacherous?” Tonino repeated.

“They always have been,” the Knight confided in him, leaning forward. “Degenerate and double-dealing every one of them! This is what we gain for trusting them.”

“What is?” Tonino asked, but the Knight wasn't listening.

“Well, we'll show them what true courage looks like once the tourney starts. As soon as they arrive, the truth will out. Swords will win the white lady's favour, I swear to you.”

“What tourney?”

“Why, the Great Tourney, young traveller. Have you not heard tell of it? The whole world has been waiting upon the coming of the hour. I ride out now to call every wandering soul to bear witness to our victory over those-”

“Where is it?” Tonino interrupted quickly.

The knight rose in his stirrups and pointed down the road with his sword. “Why, in the city, of course.” Then, with a whoop, he set his horse along the road again.

The dog waited until the noise of hooves had died down and then shook his head and said, “Court cards. All the same.”

“You seem to know a lot about this place,” Tonino said, setting off along the road again. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” the dog said, stopping to sniff at a scrubby bush by the side of the road. “Huh. Manticore passed here a week ago. You want to watch out for those, if you want to last longer than your predecessors.”

“There have been other Fools?”

“Countless, over the years. Most likely to break out, a Fool. Of course, you're also the most likely to get eaten by cockatrices, but that's the nature of the game. Any enchanter can put you into the cards, see, but they can't choose where. Your own nature does that. So some of you are court cards, and some simply suits, and some get stuck as stars and moons, but the Fool – the Fool can walk anywhere in the pack, if he's canny enough.”

“So it's up to me? To get everyone out of here?”

“Those you want out,” the dog said. “Not everyone here is an ally, mind. Whoever put you in won't want you just walking out.”

“Do you think I'm in danger?”

“Of course you're in danger,” the dog said. “Foolish question. Heh.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Tonino said, and on a whim, knelt down so he could look at the dog properly. “Do you have a name?”

The dog stood still, hackles rising and eyes fiery. “Of course I have a name. Every dog has a name, and a very fine name mine is. The finest in the world.”

Tonino waited, and when nothing more was added, asked, “And what is it?”

“You couldn't pronounce it,” the dog said, looking away. “The language of curs and hounds is too elevated for human tongues. Why, I knew a wolfhound once who-”

“I'd like to hear it,” Tonino said.

“Hear it, of course. You might want to cover your ears first, just to be safe. Which is to say-”

“Dog,” Tonino asked. “Have you forgotten your name?”

The dog's head fell and his tail drooped down between his legs. “Forgotten is a strong word, young Fool. Perhaps better to say it is temporarily out of mind. I'm sure it'll be back soon.”

“I'm Tonino.”

“Ah, yes,” said the dog. “Naturally. Tonino. I'll remember that. Short and simple, eh. Can't say that mine was, from what I recall, but humans don't need much in the way of complexity.”

“What should I call you?”

“Dog will do,” the dog said, lifting its head and stepping out again. “That is quite undeniably what I am, after all. A dog is a dog is a dog.” Then, after a few silent strides, he added, very casually, “Of course, one of the earlier Fools had a name for me. Not graceful enough to be my own name, but you could use it if you liked.”

“If you'd prefer it,” Tonino said. The weight of the pack on his shoulder was beginning to tire him, and he was wondering how far it was to this city.

“He called me Raffi,” said the dog, a little wistfully. “Until the sphinx ate him, at least.”

 

#

 

Angelica had just extracted another card from behind the grate in the dining room when she was interrupted by a small, sharp yawning noise. She swung round quickly, thrusting the tongs out in instinctive defence, and then blinked as she realised the yawn was coming from the very small kitten sitting on the cold hearth.

“Hullo,” she said. It had been a while since she last talked to a kitten this little. Most of the time they didn't make much sense.

The kitten blinked at her, all blue eyes and pink mouth and pluming white fluff like a mane of cobwebs, and demanded, very firmly, food.

There was nothing in the kitchen, so Angelica scooped up the kitten with her free hand, ignoring the grumbly hiss and flail of stumpy legs, and went back upstairs. The Englishman was already there, adding another card to the set with a pair of faintly steaming tweezers.

“Can you summon milk?” Angelica asked him.

“Are you feeling thirsty?”

The kitten, finally snuggled securely into her palm, lifted her head and wailed, clearly enough that anyone could understand, “Miiiiiilk!”

“Oh,” he said and smiled. “You could probably call it over from your Casa's kitchen.”

She tensed. “If I summon milk, we're likely to get a cow.”

His eyes widened as he stared from her to the kitten. “Wait, you meant it? About being the worst spellmaker in Florence? I thought you were joking.”

“It's not something I find funny,” she grated out, lifting her chin.

“But-” he said stiffly. “You're – it's not – you just can't work other people's spells. You know that, right? You've always known that.”

She deposited her card on the desk with the others and bustled across to grab a cushion for the kitten to sit on. There was a little _trattoria_ on the Corso, only a few minutes walk away, and she was sure they could spare her a little milk for-

He seized her wrist, pulling her back round to face him. “The Angelica Petrocchi I know is the most innovative spellmaker in _Italy_. And she knows it.”

She gaped at him, and he dropped her wrist. “Um. Sorry. That-”

“How long have you known me?”

“Since we were children, really. Although,” he added, with painstaking and awkward accuracy, “I haven't seen you for six and a half months. Not since you quarrelled with-”

“ _Milk!_ ” the kitten cried again, standing up on her cushion. Then she tumbled over her own legs and went sliding down the silk towards the desk top with a screech of surprise. Angelica caught her before she rolled onto the tarot spread, and then lifted her out of the way as a milk jug and a saucer suddenly thumped down onto the table. The jug was a steady, blue-glazed chunk of pottery, and milk slopped over the edge of it to slide down over the pattern of painted daisies on its side.

“I'm not quite sure where I got that from,” he said, leaning over to sniff it uncertainly. Then, cautiously, he poured some into the saucer.

The kitten was lunging out of Angelica's hand, so she set it down and left it to slurp happily. “What have you found?”

“A lot more, but all from the same suit, and none of them look like Tonino.”

“All Swords,” she said, leaning over his shoulder. “Are they all Montanas?”

“Those I recognise. I'm not very good at tarot, I'm afraid.”

“Most enchanters aren't,” she said absently, picking up the Nine with the tongs. The fair woman on the card was bowed over with despair, swords hanging above her. She looked familiar. “You don't need to work through shapes and rules like everyone else – you just do things. It would be a very fussy, finicky, controlling sort of enchanter who liked working with the cards.”

“I _have_ missed you,” he blurted out, and then sort of slithered backwards. “Er, not in any way you need to worry about, I mean. It's just that things work more when you're there, and I wanted to say something before you got your memory back and I got caught in the crossfire again, but I don't mean-”

“Calm down, Cat,” she snapped as the kitten flopped back with a satisfied burp. “Your virtue's in no danger from me.”

“There's no need to be nasty about it,” he said sulkily and then they were both swinging around to stare at each other.

“You-”

She pressed her hand against her forehead, hard enough to hurt, but nothing else came clear. “Just the name. It is your name, isn't it?”

“It's what people call me,” he said, face falling a little. “But it's progress. Maybe we can break it.”

Break what, the kitten wanted to know. Were they going hunting too, like all the others?

“Hunting what?” Angelica asked, putting her hand down so the kitten could butt against her wrist.

Why rats, of course. Everyone knew that the cats of the Casa Montana were the best ratters in Caprona. Then, with a little yawn, she added, very graciously, that she supposed the Petrocchi cats weren't bad at it either. Could someone put her back on the cushion, please? She was feeling rather sleepy.

“Can you tell me what happened first?” Angelica asked.

She got a blurry muddle of images, as the kitten began to yawn again. There was a glimpse of a torrent of white rats, eyes glinting, and a sense of many cats leaping after them, the little kitten with legs too short to keep up, chasing after leaves instead, sitting in the empty yard and missing her mother, and then the next rat, who looked like a human courier to Angelica despite the kitten's insistence of _bad, bad rat_ and cards spilling everywhere.

And that was that, until Angelica and her friend had arrived and brought milk. Now, if they were going to chase the rats too, would they mind taking the kitten with them? Her legs weren't very fast, but she was a very good pouncer, and she was sure she could manage a little rat, if they put her down close enough.

Angelica picked the kitten up and tucked her safely into her pocket, where she curled up as Angelica explained what she had learned, a warm, purring knot against her hip.

Cat sighed. “How do you feel about visiting your family? I'm out of ideas, and we could do with some help.”

“If we must,” she said, closing her eyes. This was going to be humiliating (but there was another world she should be living in, where she wasn't an embarrassment to them all, and she wanted that back). Thoughtful, she helped Cat pile up the cards and wrap them in layers of leather and silk.

“There's something about rats and Caprona,” he was saying. “Something Tonino told me once, and I can't remember it.”

“There's the White Devil,” Angelica said. “But the Angel expelled her and she won't come back as long as – Cat?”

Something had changed in the very air around her, as if the world had trembled and gone flat. It took a moment for her to realise that all she could hear was her own breathing, and the leaves in the yard and the low rumble of the kitten's purr. Suddenly her arms were bare, but the air was hot enough that she was glad. When she looked down, her sensible clothes had melted into white draperies and the kitten was no longer in her pocket, but perched atop the wreath of scarlet flowers that wound around her waist.

Worse still, Cat had vanished. And, as she saw when she dashed to the window, so had the entire city of Caprona. There were no more carriages or carts clattering in steep streets, no more distant views of blue hills beyond golden towers, and the dusty, smoky scent of autumn had faded into nothing. Beyond the walls of the Casa Montana lay only sand, and empty sky, and a long, winding road.

 

#

 

It was a long walk to the city, and by the time they arrived, the sea was far behind them and the wild, flowering crags had flattened into rich fields. There were others on the road now, though none of them seemed to notice Tonino and Raffi.

“Local colour,” Raffi said, with a sniff, and then brought his head up. “But here's something more.”

Lucia was running along the road towards them, laughter bubbling out of her as she glanced over her shoulder. She was dressed in a bright smock and trousers, her hair loose on her shoulders, and she was juggling seven swords in her arms, scrabbling to hold them all at once.

“Tonino!” she shouted, as soon as she saw him. “Look what I've got!”

They were fine-looking swords, as much as he could judge, with little gold flames set into the hilts. “Where did you get them?”

She grinned at him. “I stole them. Right out of the Staves' tents at the tourney-ground. Let's see them fight now.”

“Isn't that cheating?” he asked, unease curling in his belly.

She tossed her head. “They cheat. Why shouldn't we? They're liars, Tonino, pretending to be at peace and then creeping around behind our backs to betray us and the lady. Let's see them pretend to defend their honour now.”

“Brains in the family went elsewhere, did they?” Raffi said. Lucia didn't seem to hear him, so Tonino ignored that comment as politely as he could.

“Won't it be a joust?” he asked. “You haven't stopped it at all.”

For a moment, her shoulders fell. Then she grinned again. “Well, a joust is even better. Their Knight will have to fight Rinaldo and he'll show them. Hurry up, Tonino – it's nearly time!”

She dashed away, crouching down to hide swords under bushes. Tonino watched her go, and then turned back. He could see the city from here, and the tournament field outside its walls, ringed by leaf-green and cherry-red tents. There were stands of seats around the lists, already filling up with tiny figures.

Then, with a tremble, the landscape below him changed, green fields folding back on themselves like wings to reveal a desert, rising up in neat squares to fill exactly half the landscape. Only the road remained the same, reaching out across the yellow sand. Already, there were riders there, moving towards the city.

“So,” said Raffi, very intent. “Another suit's in play.”

“What does that mean? Raffi?”

But the dog had set off down the road at a brisk, intent pace, sniffing the air in front of him and mumbling, “Cats and rats and the devil's in the details, they say. That, and it takes a fool to know one.”

Before long they were approaching the gates of the city. The crowds were thick enough that Tonino had to shove through them, and he heard at least seven languages bubbling up around him, some of them spoken in voices that were so old and slow and papery that they made shivers crawl up his spine.

There were familiar faces in the crowd too, and not all of them were Montanas. The red-haired herald riding by was Monica Petrocchi, he was sure, and the boy running past with a load of staves over his shoulder was Roberto, who could sing better than anyone else in Casa even though he had his heart set on the University.

And there, by the great gates to the tourney field, glaring around at the crowd with ever-increasing anxiety, was Angelica.

She was dressed almost as ridiculously as Tonino himself, fussing at her billowing layers of skirt in a clearly pointless attempt to make them fall neatly, even as her garland of roses slid dangerously over her forehead. She looked angry and worried and just a little scared, and at the sight of her a whole great slice of Tonino's fogged over memory slid free, and he realised he had never been so glad to see someone in his life.

A great flash of relief that lit up her face as she saw him running towards him, and then they were hugging each other so tightly that he wasn't sure he'd still be able to breathe properly even after she let go.

“I can't believe I forgot you,” she said into the crook of his neck.

“You did?” he asked, feeling a little hurt.

“Everyone did. Your family are all here, aren't they? Trapped in the cards?”

“I think so,” he said. “And their memories are all wrong too.”

“But you remember?” she demanded, looking up.

He shrugged. “More and more. I remember that you were angry with me.”

She lifted her chin and glared at him, but her cheeks were burning red and her voice not entirely steady as she said, “I'm still furious. Obviously.”

Behind them a trumpet sounded suddenly, and a clear voice called, “Clear the road!”

Caught up in the crowd, they ended up pressed to the inner wooden wall of the first stand, in the shadow of the seats. Raffi came darting between scurrying feet to bark up at them, “Knight of Staves!”

The Knight came riding in a flare of dust and purpose, red banners swirling from his lowered lance, and blazing on his crest. As he burst into the arena, the spectators began to cheer, drumming their feet against the stalls above, as Angelica mouthed his name desperately, silenced by the thunder of the crowd. Moments later, another knight entered from the far side of the lists, punching his fist into the sky as the cheering swelled up again.

Angelica got close enough to scream straight into Tonino's ear. “That's Marco! What's he doing?”

“He's going to fight Rinaldo!” Tonino yelled back. “I don't know why!”

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the cheering stopped. Across the arena, banners were being raised above the dais, and the seats there were starting to fill. The two Knight wheeled around to ride to a halt in front of the dais.

By Tonino's feet, Raffi was starting to growl.

“They can't fight,” Angelica blurted out, hand knotting in his sleeve. “We promised the Angel! Caprona!”

“We're not in Caprona,” Tonino hissed back. “And none of them remember.”

On the dais, another figure was moving down towards the throne at the front, pale even in the shadows at the back of the stalls.

Angelica had gone pale. “There are no Montanas or Petrocchis left in the city, are there? We're all here.”

Raffi's spine was as straight and stiff as an arrow, his head forward and his teeth bared. As his growl grew steadily louder and louder and louder, it began to form a word.

The pale figure took her throne at the front of the dais, and Tonino heard Angelica gasp in recognition.

“Rat!” Raffi growled. “Ratratratrat!”

The White Devil was presiding over the tourney.

 

#

 

They'd both, without even thinking about it, run, but it was Angelica who stopped first, far enough outside the city that she barely hear the roar from the stands.

“So that explains why we're here!” she gasped, leaning over to catch her breath.

“You know this rat?” Raffi demanded.

“She's the White Devil who threatens Caprona,” Tonino explained. “We helped banish her a few years ago, but the Angel can only protect the city if our families work together.”

“Devils,” Raffi muttered. “All vermin. Well, what's to do, then?”

“Last time the Angel saved us,” Tonino said, “but that was in Caprona and- Raffi?”

The terrier had dropped to a crouch, tail between his legs as he shook his head. “There's an answer. I know there's an answer.”

“A way to get rid of her?”

Raffi whined, dropping his head onto his paws. “I can't remember. I can't remember anything.”

“You remembered a name,” Tonino said, kneeling down to run his hand along Raffi's back. “And you know so much about this world.”

“That's you,” Raffi huffed, still slumped. “I don't know how you're making the rules work in your favour, but you're doing it. None of the others remembered _anything_ , but you – you're changing the game.”

“He does that,” Angelica said and was a little embarrassed at how proud she sounded. “Does this mean the others will get their memories back too? Can we stop this fight before it starts?”

“I don't think Marco and Rinaldo need much of an excuse,” Tonino said glumly. “Remember Lena's wedding?”

Angelica winced. That had not been a fine moment for either family, especially once the drunk-spellcasting had started. “In that case, let's speed things up.” She dropped down beside them, reaching out touch Raffi's head. “Remember.” Then, because she had an idea now how horrible it was to forget so much, she added, with all her will behind it, “Remember everything that you've forgotten. Tonino, _help_.”

“Remember,” Tonino said fiercely, eyes brightening, and she felt the spell blaze out, clean and powerful and fierce as the wind.

Raffi stirred and then pushed to his feet, shrugging their hands away. “Huh,” he said. “It's at the end of the road.”

“What is?” Angelica asked.

He cast her an irritated glare. “I don't know yet. You didn't expect everything to come back at once, did you?”

“We can work it out,” Tonino was saying, but Angelica was already thinking. She'd read the cards so often over the last six months that she could almost see them, spread around her like spell-scrips, all symbols and tricks. What was there in the higher trumps that could-

“In some decks,” she said aloud, the revelation rushing through her, “the Judgement Card is called the Angel. It's only a painted angel, of course, but if she's in here, she has to play by the rules, and Judgement always trumps the Devil.”

“How do we get there?” Tonino asked.

“The Fool can go anywhere. That's always been part of the rules.”

“So let's go,” Angelica said. “Hurry up.”

Tonino cast a worried glance back at the tourney. “Shouldn't we try to stop them first? We could find Renata or Paolo and-”

“We need to find the Angel,” she said firmly. There was no point in letting him get indecisive, and once he started panicking about family, he was almost immovable. “Hurry.”

And so they set their backs to the city and started down the road.

 

#

 

Fifteen minutes later, they found themselves at the gates of the city again. They turned again, taking more care this time to check that they were keeping the clash and roar of the tourney behind them. Tonino couldn't help glancing back every few steps, though he could see Angelica was getting impatient with him.

Again.

It wasn't his fault, he thought. Not everyone could just run off to another city and abandon everyone. It wasn't as if he could work alone, anyway, and his family needed all the time he could spare from his other work. He cared about them, and he wanted to help them, especially now, when Rinaldo and Marco were really trying to kill each other and who knows who their seconds were, because if he had to see Paolo or Renata or Domenico fight to the-

They were back at the gates.

“She shouldn't be doing this,” Raffi groaned. “Never met a rat I didn't want to bite in half, and they all cheat.”

“It's not her,” Angelica snapped, crossing her arms and glaring. “It's somebody else who can't stand to do anything on his own.”

“It's not me,” Tonino protested.

“Oh, isn't it?” she demanded, sticking her chin out. “I bet you've been thinking about them all the time you should have been thinking about the Angel.”

“I'm trying to save them,” he snapped. How had he ever thought he'd missed her? “That's the whole point.”

“Them, and us, and Caprona and _yourself_!”

This was beginning to feel horribly familiar, like things she'd said a hundred times over the last few years, and worse, very like things she'd screamed at him before she left. When she drew breath and added, pitch rising, “Can't you do anything without your family?”

“Why would I want to?” he snapped back. “They care about me. They don't abandon everything that matters and go running off-”

“I asked you to come with me!”

“I didn't want to!” Which was a lie, because he had, desperately, but not quite enough to cut off all ties to who and what he was.

She went white. “You were scared!”

“I'm not scared,” he protested. “I don't think there's any point in ignoring my responsi-”

“You just like having someone else tell you what to do. You can't cope without rules!”

That stung, and he ignored the shine in her eyes to fling back, “You can't cope _with_ them!”

If they didn't mind, the kitten said, scrabbling up the belt of roses to stare at them, she had been trying to sleep. Did they mind keeping the noise down? Then, looking around with bleary eyes, she added, This place smells of rat.

“I'm not surprised,” Angelica said, sniffing. “Seeing as someone refuses to do anything about it.”

And that was the point at which Tonino quietly decided that he had had enough. His feet hurt, his entire family had been turned into playing cards and set up to fight each other while Caprona, he was almost certain, burned, and Angelica, who was the one who had run away in the first place, was implying that he was a coward. Without another word, he turned and stumped away along the road, feeling it trying to twist under his feet.

 _Not this time_ , he thought at it. _This time, I want this to be over._

Behind him, Angelica was rushing to catch up, gasping, “Cut the road short, take us straight there, Right to the Angel, let the path – oh, what rhymes? – um, us bear.”

He felt the spell wobble out of her in a hiccuping, unsteady sort of way, and even though he knew that meant she was still upset, he gave it a boost as it passed. Let her deal with the mess.

Beneath his feet, the road made a rumbling, purring noise, and arched up, stretching lazily over the fields like a swan stretching its neck. Tonino, halfway through a step, stumbled and wildly flung his arms out for balance as the wind suddenly pulled at him.

Angelica shrieked and grabbed hold of him, and he looked over her shoulder to see that the piece of road they were on had detached itself and was twisting up into the air like a paper plate on a pole.

“Oh,” Angelica wailed and sat down hard, dragging Tonino with her. “And I used to want a magic carpet.”

Tonino thought that she had the right idea, and used the arm that wasn't locked around her to grab on to the grass that poked up between the cobbles for a tiny bit of extra anchorage. Angelica's loose hair whipped up around them in bright ribbons, getting in his eyes and mouth as he hung on. The little kitten had latched her claws into Angelica's dress, her eyes screwed shut and all her fur on end. Tonino looked around for Raffi, who was surely too small for this.

The dog was standing in the middle of the patch of the road, legs straight as he rode the rippling cobbles. He was barking to the whirling sky, “I remember! I remember!” and there were great gusts of laughter in there too, the sort of noise that just sounded too big to come from such a small dog.

“Remember what?” Tonino asked, but Raffi didn't seem to care.

Then, as suddenly as they had risen, they were falling again, spinning down towards the waiting ground. Tonino just had time to think _we're going to die_ , before Angelica threw both arms around him and he closed his eyes and braced himself for-

-nothing, it seemed. Very carefully, he opened his eyes again.

They were back on the road, with solid ground beneath them, and the only sign that something had happened the way the cobbles around them sat at right angles to those a few feet away.

“Oh, god,” Angelica said weakly. “I just remembered why it was a bad idea to cast spells when I'm cross.”

“It was me, too,” he admitted. “Nobody else makes me angry, you know.”

“I wasn't being fair,” she told him, sitting back a little and biting her lip. “I'm just worried about you.”

He shrugged miserably. “I have to work with someone, and I love them. I don't want to let anyone down.”

“You could work with me,” she said fiercely. “Or with Cat. You don't have to leave forever, but you always go home after a few days, even if you have a mission. You never even came to see me in Florence.”

“You told me not to! You said you'd rather die than have to see my face again!”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in her answer. “I didn't mean it, obviously.” Then she stood up and looked around, “This – this is not what I expected.”

They were in a graveyard, cool and mist-wreathed, with worn stone crosses rising like shadows from the dark ground. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear water.

“Isn't this the trump where the dead rise from their graves?” he asked, trying to marshal his dim memory of tarot.

Angelica squeaked and grabbed his hand. “I don't want to meet the living dead. Where's the angel?”

“Where should it be?”

She looked up, frowning. “In the sky.”

He followed her gaze. Above them, clouds hung like veils, still and grey and wispy. There was no angel. And, though they searched the entire cemetery, with its gaping, empty graves, and shouted desperately to the sky, they did not find it.

They had left the kitten to practise her pouncing on Raffi's feet while the dog kept staring at the sky and mumbling. Despairing, Tonino slumped down beside them, and couldn't even manage to smile when the kitten transferred her efforts to the curling toes of his ridiculous boots.

“We're going to be stuck here forever,” Angelica said, sitting beside him tiredly. “The Angel was our only hope.”

What did they want an angel for? The kitten was hanging off the end of his right foot, all fierce concentration even as the stuffed toe slowly uncurled under her weight.

“To chase the White Devil,” Tonino said, and sent the kitten an image of their previous encounter, when the Devil had been first Duchess and then rat.

The kitten thought they were very silly. They didn't need an angel for that. All they needed was plenty of good ratters.

“They're all missing,” Angelica said impatiently. “You know they ran off somewhere.”

Well, they should be running here instead. Why didn't Tonino and Angelica call them?

“Not a bad idea, that,” Raffi said suddenly as Tonino and Angelica stared at each other.

“You're back with us, then?” Angelica asked.

She got a doggy grin, all teeth and lolling tongue. “Nearly, nearly. Had a bit of catching up to do. You gave me back years. Years and years.”

“Glad we could help,” Tonino said, and looked across. “How do you feel about summoning the cats? Can we even do that?”

Angelica was chewing her lip and frowning. “Maybe. If we keep it simple.” Then she darted a look at him and added, “And avoid getting angry.”

It was hard, and he wasn't sure whether it was because of the rules of the game or because their magic was as trapped in here as they were. It wasn't until both of them were sweating and Angelica's voice was cracking as she mumbled the calling spell over and over, that it finally broke free of them. Tonino had the clear sense that it hadn't quite been the right shape and size.

“That went wrong, didn't it?” Angelica said, sighing. “Everything seems to, these days.”

That just made him worry more. “Are you-”

“Nobody wants originality in a freelance spellmaker,” she said, leaning forward to prop her chin up on her knees. “Without my memories, I thought I'd failed completely, but the truth isn't much better. I just don't want to always be the girl who turned her father green.”

“You should work with us,” he said. “All the time, instead of when we have a particular problem.”

She snorted. “You do remember the screaming fits my aunts had when I moved out, don't you? And that was when I was living alone. Gallivanting around Europe with two bachelors! The scandal! I don't think the cats are coming.”

“Uh,” Tonino said, not really noticing the change of subject, because the perfect solution to her problem had just smacked into his brain, and he was having trouble breathing past it.

“What's wrong with you?” she asked, getting up again. “Raffi, I think we should get back to the city. Your solution isn't here.”

“Patience,” Raffi growled, sitting up suddenly, his tail sweeping back and forth.

Then, with a faint pop, Cat appeared in the middle of the road. Unfortunately, he had obviously been standing on a slope before, because he promptly fell over his own feet and ended up sitting in the road, looking as startled as the kitten did every time it tripped.

“You should practise that,” Angelica said, and his face relaxed into the brightest, most-relieved smile Tonino had ever seen from him.

“Thank goodness,” he said. “I've been trying to get in here for hours. There's something ridiculously strong powering these cards.”

“It's the White Devil,” Angelica told him.

“Not just her,” Tonino said, gathering his thoughts again. “The pack's three hundred years old. She didn't create them.”

“And I'm not sure even a devil could hold both your families in here indefinitely,” Cat said, dusting himself off. “Let alone keep me out.”

“Fowler was an occultist,” Tonino said, trying to remember the case. The investigation seemed a little faded and long-ago. “He could have summoned something and trapped it within the cards.”

“A more powerful demon?” Angelica asked, sounding nervous. Then, she drew a quick breath and looked up at the empty sky. “Or a real angel, not just a painted one?”

Cat shot her a slightly crumpled sort of considering look and said gravely, “Very dark magic, that.”

“Which fits what we know about Fowler,” Tonino said, and it felt like a weight off his shoulders falling back into this (and Angelica was right, he should be doing this more, because he was good at it,much better than he was at being the extra push in everyone's spell-development). “How would he keep an angel in, though?”

“Make him play by the rules,” Angelica said at once.

Cat looked between them and said, “Er, if you could fill me in.”

Tonino opened his mouth to start, but Angelica cut in to demand, “Did you find the cats?”

“You have your memory back, then? And, yes, they reappeared as soon as the Petrocchis vanished.”

Tonino let Angelica do the talking, sitting back to ponder. If the rules bound the Angel completely, he should be right here. But the rules had loopholes – Raffi had shown him that, and there were ways to play against the dealer.

“...we could definitely use the cats, then,” his partner was saying. “Ensorcelled memories won't stand long against what the cats know to be true.”

“And then what?” Angelica asked. “How do we get them out?”

Cat gave a one-shouldered, slightly irritable shrug, and said, “I had to resort to a fortune-teller.”

“Who told you what?” Tonino said, because getting information out of an enchanter-shaped brain was an acquired skill.

“Where the road ends,” Cat said.

“The final trump,” Angelica cried, smacking herself on the forehead. “The World!”

“The Fool can get out because he's the only one who can walk the whole length of the road,” Tonino said. “Right, Raffi?”

“That's the heart of it,” Raffi said. “It's a weakness, that last card, a place where the walls are thin. You can call things in there, as well as putting them out.” His tail quivered suddenly. “I remember now. I remember how things are supposed to be. I know everything.”

“Everything?” Tonino asked gently. Things were falling into place in his mind now, as neatly as cards turning to show their true faces.

“ _Everything_ ,” Raffi echoed. “I think you should call the cats now, nine-lifer.”

“I am,” Cat said, and he sounded troubled. “They'll be here soon.” He leaned down to address the kitten. “Can you show them the way?”

Of course she could, if her legs stayed straight long enough.

“Oh,” Cat said, as the first few cats came winding between the gravestones, all curiosity and indignation. “I don't think that will be a problem.” He smiled at Angelica then, as if he expected her to appreciate whatever unlikely thing he was about to do. “Someone once told me that all cats secretly know that they're really lions.”

Lions, the kitten said with a scornful sniff, but she was a foot tall now and still growing, bigger and wilder and more golden by the second. Beyond her, the rest of the cats were going through the same transformation, flowing down the road in one long, golden stream of menace.

“You'll get a better view from further along the road,” Raffi said, and wandered into the crowd of lions as if he hadn't noticed them. Tonino hurried after him, and the lions parted around them, some of them pausing to rub their heads against his leg in greeting. Carefully, he followed Raffi uphill, watching the lions step aside to let the little dog pass. Behind him, Cat and Angelica were talking quickly, something about where to apply pressure to create a portal out, if he was interpreting Cat's non-answers correctly.

He didn't have much to add to that, though Angelica clearly had ideas, and that brought him back to his earlier thoughts. There had been more than a few missions lately where a third person could have made all the difference, especially a third person who could think through spells instead of seeing them all in one lump. She'd have the challenge she wanted and an honest trade, and he'd be free of the low, cold misery which had been nagging at him even since she stormed off to Florence, and Cat could stop worrying about them both.

Of course, to do all that, they'd have to get married, and that was where this could be a very bad plan, because he wasn't entirely sure she liked him much at the moment. Perhaps, if he was honest  
with himself, it was more of a daydream than an actual, workable plan.

It was a very appealing daydream, though. And she had wanted him to come to Florence, before they started shouting.

“Here,” Raffi said, hopping up onto a boulder. Tonino stopped and looked down. They had left the mist behind, a grey stain on the slope below, and he could see the whole landscape spread out below him, desert and fields and lakes, towers and roads and the city. On the far distant tourney field, two tiny knights were pounding towards each other.

“It's like a play,” Cat said, sitting down on a boulder and taking off his slightly dented hat. He regarded it with dismay, and added, “Everyone wearing masks.”

“What kind of plays have you been taking him to?” Angelica demanded breathlessly, and Tonino and Cat caught each other's eye and snickered before they could help themselves. She rolled her eyes. “I don't want to know. It's only a play if they know they're acting a role. This is a trap.”

“Not for long,” Tonino said, watching the wave of cats pour along the road at the bottom of the mountains.

“They won't do for the Devil,” Cat said, poking at a dent in the side of the hat until it popped back into place. “Your first idea was better for that.”

“The Angel is missing,” Angelica said irritably. Down below, the cats had found a lone man tilling the field, and one of them had stopped to coil around him, knocking away his hoe. As Tonino watched, he suddenly stood up, shaking himself as if he was waking up.

“More that it's missing pieces,” Cat said, exchanging a look with Tonino. “I think this might be your hat. Do you mind me using it?”

Tonino ignored that to turn to Angelica. He almost had all the pieces. “Which angel is it? On the Judgement Card?”

“Er, one of the archangels, I think,” she said, frowning. “Gabriel or Raphael, most likely.”

“You need to do it, I think,” Cat said. “She was stupid to make you the Fool.”

“I don't think she controls that,” Tonino said. “It was someone else, probably without even realising it. Raffi, how long have you been in the cards?”

“Three hundred years,” the dog said, straining on top of the rock as if he was desperate to just leap down and join the hunt. “Oh, it's ratting time. There's not been such a ratting in, why, in almost three _thousand_ years.” He bared his teeth in a low, triumphant growl.

He saw Angelica's eyes widen as she suddenly worked it out, and he could feel her magic suddenly sliding in around his, and Cat working behind her, doing something which felt like the enchanter's equivalent of tearing the paper from a parcel to expose the truth.

“Raffi?” Tonino said. “Is your name short for Raphael?”

Raffi quirked his head to stare at them all, his eyes growing brighter and brighter and brighter, as if he had stars kindling in his mind. “At last,” he said, and there was a hint in his voice of a great pack baying in hunt or the winter storm breaking over the sea. “A fool who can think. That name was the very last thing of all that I had forgotten.”

“Raphael,” Angelica breathed.

Tonino still had questions, but his voice seemed to have shrivelled in his throat. Breathless, he watched the archangel leap to the highest rock and look down upon the world below. Already, Raphael seemed too bright to be contained within the outlines of the dog, light spilling from his shoulders and heels in great sweeps.

“Now,” he roared out to the shuddering sky. “Let what was broken be made right. Let what was twisted be mended. Let what was hidden be revealed. And let the hunt begin!”

And then, in a blaze of fire and glory, he was leaping away, and the wind came in his wake, screaming down so fast it seemed to tear at the sky. From below, there was the sound of gleeful barking, and the sudden shrill scream of a terrified rat, but Tonino was too busy trying not to get to swept off the mountainside.

He noticed when the leaves and twigs whipping past them on the wind changed to scraps of paper, though. He reached out instinctively to catch one and found himself staring down at an old and faded tarot card, where a painted fool was just about to step heedlessly off a cliff.

Then, with a slow groan, the sky really did tear apart.

 

#

 

When Angelica opened her eyes, she was back in Caprona, sprawled on the cathedral steps in a warm tangle of limbs. The sun was warm on her back, the wind had died to a soft breeze, and the only angels she could see were the little chubby stone ones holding up the pillars at the front of the cathedral.

Then the shouting started, and she tried to sit up, accidentally elbowing Tonino in the stomach in the process. He yelped, sitting up with a flail which knocked Angelica off balance. By the time they'd untangled themselves, she was laughing so hard that she couldn't sit up straight anyway and had to sag down against his shoulder.

“Are we drunk?” he gasped into her ear, and she shook her head, not sure how she knew, but certain all the same. This breathless, dancing feeling was pure, untarnished joy.

“It's the angel, I think,” she said and turned to smile at him. He grinned back, and she felt the joy in her burn even brighter, at the sight of him: happy, and still a little awestruck, and just quietly, stubbornly _there_.

Then he pointed over her shoulder. She turned to look down into the square, which was full of people – all her family and all of his, and hundreds of strangers as well, not to mention all the cats and a few horses and were those _salamanders_ twining up the lampposts? Everyone seemed to be shouting, and she could see flashes of blue in the middle of it, which suggested the Ducal Police had arrived. At the bottom of the steps, a man in seventeenth-century dress was shaking his fists at the sky and yelling in what she thought might be Flemish.

“Everybody's out of the cards,” Cat said. He was sitting just along the steps from them, still holding the dented top hat and staring down at the chaos with an expression which was just a little too gleeful to pass as disinterest. “I wonder what we ought to do with them?”

“We could run away?” Tonino suggested.

Cat turned a mournful gaze on him. “You know what Chrestomanci would say about that.”

“Angelica and I could run away,” Tonino told him. “You can stay here.”

“And leave me with your families?” Cat complained, as Angelica said, “What?”

Tonino went very pink and looked away, and Angelica felt the little part of her that had been miserable for months suddenly relax. Before she could think it through, she blurted out, “You could always come back if they were in trouble. I mean, something like this, not just somebody losing their favourite pen type trouble. And Florence is lovely at this time of year, says everyone, and I'm so fed up of living without you-”

The light was growing sharper and bolder, and Angelica stopped babbling to look up. For a moment, looking up at the golden, gleaming layers of clouds glowing above, she couldn't tell where the archangel was. Then she realised that it was his wings, not clouds, that were filling the entire sky, and breathed in slowly.

With a faint murmur, as if the wind was singing, everything shifted, and something more human-shaped was walking up the steps towards them, tall wings leaving shivering trails of light in the air as it passed.

“Do you have the rest?” Raphael asked Cat, voice grave.

“Here,” Cat said, proferring him the hat, and now Angelica could see that it was lined with cards, pressed against the edges in a bright spiral. “I don't think they're very dangerous now.”

“This one is,” said Raphael, and produced another card, dropping it into the hat with the rest. As it fell, she caught a glimpse of it – the Devil, dressed all in white, her face contorted with rage as she clawed at the edge of the card. “I will take these into my charge, with your permission.”

“Of course,” Cat said, and handed the hat over. “Er, if you don't mind me asking, what are you going to do now?”

“It has been too long since I walked the earth. Many vermin have escaped from their cages.” Then, his smooth, glowing face spread into a startlingly toothy grin. “In short, there's a hunt to be had, and I'm about to go ratting.”

Then, with a twitch of his wings, as if he was a hound released from the leash, he launched himself into the sky again, and they were left behind.

So, said a small voice by her foot, that was an archangel, was it? Interesting.

Angelica looked down to see the kitten drape itself over her toes with a little huff. She had managed a whole mouthful of rat, she wanted them to know, and it had squealed and squealed and squealed. Did Angelica often hunt rat? The kitten was quite happy to be of assistance, if so. If not, would any of them happen to know how a kitten could go about becoming an angel when she grew up? It looked like a suitable job for her very particular talents. Then she yawned, showing a pink throat and tiny incisors, and begged them to excuse her. It was past time for her nap. They wouldn't leave Caprona without her, would they?

“Not this time,” Angelica said, and Tonino took her hand in the fading, glorious light of the archangel's passing.


End file.
